“Why do you say that?”
“Sneaky, unfriendly, unhappy. A bad combination. I never once saw her bring anybody home, or have a visitor.”
Waterstone paused to tap her finger on the arm of her rocking chair. “That’s not healthy. I did get out of her she worked as a seamstress at Dobb’s. That’s high society there. I like to sew a little myself, but I couldn’t get her to talk to me. Asked her in a couple of times, but she scurried away. The girl up there now, with her sweet girl? Nice as they come, but the other one? She had a look about her. The word is furtive.
“I do recall her coming in one time—late in the day—crying. Mad crying, if you understand me, not heartbroken crying. Carrying a package. I asked what was wrong, like you do, and she yelled at me. First time she looked straight at me, first time she spoke to me above a mutter. Told me to mind my own damn business. And since she’s right above me, I could hear her slamming around, stomping around for a good hour after. There’s a bad temper inside that little mouse. You’ll want to be careful when you find her, dear.”
“Would you have any idea where we might find her?”
“I’m sorry to say I don’t. She left here in a hurry, or so it seemed. She must’ve had whatever furniture she had moved when I was out. I didn’t know she was gone, only that I didn’t hear her upstairs. I’m going to say I was worried some—and nosy—so I went up and buzzed. Then I contacted the management because, well, that kind of unhappy can come to a bad end. I thought maybe she’d killed herself. Turned out she’d just moved on. Left the rent, though, every penny. That’s when I told Gracie upstairs about the apartment. It’s a happier building now. That other girl, she carried a cloud with her. And sooner or later, clouds break into a storm.”
21
Eve walked fast, talked fast.
“Officer Carmichael,” she snapped into her comm. “I want you and Shelby to hit every building, every apartment, every shop, restaurant, take-out joint, and dive on this block. Peabody, send them and the detectives the photos of all her looks. Show all of them to every resident, shopkeeper, sidewalk sleeper, and street thief.”
She got behind the wheel. “Plug this Dobb’s place in,” she told Peabody, then contacted Santiago. “Peabody’s sending you pictures. Hit every building on DeLano’s block, and every building in the shopping area where the kid spotted the suspect. Somebody’s seen this bitch.”
She peeled out. “She’s not far, she won’t have gone far,” she stated. “Maybe changed her look again. She’s smart enough for that, but she can’t change her nature. She still has to earn a living.”
As she drove, she contacted Feeney. “Anything?”
“You’re there. The addy Peabody shot to McNab.”
“She’s blown.”
“Not surprised. She went dark from there about nine months ago. Nothing posted or sent from that location since. We’re working through another batch. Thing is, she got into a couple of tangles on one of those writer sites—didn’t take criticism very well, and she shut it down. Pulled her stuff off, from what we can see.”
“That’s her break. Nobody appreciates her art. She’ll show them. Not just DeLano, nobody. Keep at it.” She clicked off. “Callendar.”
“Yo.”
“Peabody’s going to send you what we’ve got on a search for the next target. I know you’ve only got your handheld, but pick it up.”
“Copy that. Does this AC back here—and that is frosty enough—have fizzies?”
“I don’t know.”
“It does,” Peabody told her.
“Excelente. Put one on my tab. I gotta keep the sugar going.”
Time for reinforcements, Eve thought, and tagged Roarke.
She expected to go through his admin, Caro, but he answered himself.
“Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”
“Yeah. Listen, have you got any time for consultant work?”
“I may. Depending on the fee.” He smiled.
“Ha. I’ve got EDD working two separate searches, and don’t want to lay another on them. I ID’d the suspect and her location, but she poofed from there months ago. Ann Elizabeth Smith. I’ve got men in the field canvassing two locations, because she’s damn sure still in Brooklyn. I need a deep dive into her financials, and whatever shadow accounts she might have set up.”
“Poking into other people’s money is vastly entertaining. Will you work at home or Central?”
“Central, for now anyway. I’m heading for Dobb’s in Brooklyn first.”
“Going shopping then?”
“Well, they’re having a big shoe sale.”
“And there’s nothing you’d enjoy more. I’ll be at Central in an hour, an hour and a half latest.”
“Appreciate it. Gotta go.”
She spotted Dobb’s—a three-story, elegantly faded brick building with big display windows and a large brass plaque embossed with its name over fancy double doors.
She considered pulling into its underground lot, thought, Fuck it, and zipped into a no-parking zone, flipped on her on duty light.
“I’ll stick,” Callendar said from the back, “keep on this, unless you need me in there.”
“Stick.”
“I’ve never been in here.” Peabody climbed out, studied the window display of mannequins that appeared to be strolling over the deck of a cruise ship in flowy pants, sheer dresses. Another stretched out on a lounge chair in a bathing suit that cut down to the gemstone glittering in her navel while she held a tall glass topped with a pink umbrella. Everyone’s hair fluttered as if from an ocean breeze.
“It’s February,” Eve commented. “Why aren’t they wearing coats, sweaters, boots?”
“It’s February,” Peabody agreed. “That’s when rich people get out of the cold and go on cruises or to warm places. So cruise wear.”
“In New York, and that includes Brooklyn, it’s February.”
Eve pushed through the fancy doors.
She saw it coming, the three people in sharp black with maniacal smiles converging on her from three directions. Like a pincer movement on the battlefield.
All armed with spritzers.
“Any of you who sprays me with any of that crap is going to be arrested for assault.” She whipped out her badge. “Where’s Alterations?”
Two slunk away, but one stood firm—all six feet of her—in towering black heels that should have had her feet screaming in protest.
“Any of our consultants on the second or third floor can assist you with a fitting expert.”
“I don’t want a fitting expert. I want Alterations.”
The woman’s smile never wavered. “Any of our consultants on the second or third—”
“Never mind.”
Eve strode toward the glide. Behind her back, Peabody stuck out her arm, turned up her wrist, invited a spritz.
She sniffed at it as she hurried after Eve. “Too musky.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I can smell you. You smell like you slept in somebody’s great-grandmother’s attic.”
“Yeah, too musky.” As she walked, Peabody rubbed her spritzed wrist on her thigh. “My mistake.”
Eve glanced around the second floor. Racks and shelves of clothes, little alcoves with names of designers above the entrances full of more. A lot of frozen fake people wearing outfits. Three grouped together appeared to have a conversation as they posed.
And that was just creepy.
Eve arrowed toward an actual person, one carrying a couple pair of those flowy pants, and moving too fast to be a customer.
“Hold it.”
“Good afternoon! I’m sorry, I’m with a customer. Let me call for a consultant to assist you.”
“I need Alterations.”
“Of course. Just let me—”
“Get me, ah, Jill. Formal wear. Blond, big blue eyes.”
“I’ll call for her right away. Just one moment.”
When she hurried away, Eve decided to give it exactly two minutes before she shoved her badge into someone’s face.
Jill made it in about ninety seconds. When she saw Eve, her big eyes went bigger yet.
“I didn’t say anything to anybody! I swear!”
“We’re not here for that. I need you to take me to Alterations.”
“Oh. Gosh. Customers aren’t allowed down there.”
Eve drew out her badge, but didn’t shove it into Jill’s face. “This makes me a cop, not a customer.”
Behind Eve’s back Peabody dropped her hand from the sweater she’d been stroking.
“Look, Jill, I’m pressed for time. I can get the store manager, go through the damn protocol, or you can just take me where I need to go.”
“I guess. Okay. I guess it’s okay because you’re the police. I saw the vid and everything.”
“Great. Lead the way.”
“We should take the elevator. It’s in the basement, and you have to swipe to get down there. It’s employees only.”
The elevator proved roomier than the ones at Central, and not as packed with bodies. But once you added the multitude of shopping bags, a baby in one of those wheeled chairs—strollers, Eve remembered—and a good-size dog in a plaid sweater, it made a decent crush.
Everybody poured off on the main floor. Jill swiped for the basement.
Given the underground location, Eve expected a sweatshop atmosphere. Dozens of people huddled over machines, or killing their backs and feet crouched over worktables and stations. Bad lighting, chilly air.
Instead, she stepped into a brightly lit area where about a half dozen people worked on machines or with hand tools at individual stations. Some of them chatted away as they worked. Some wore headsets and bopped a bit like an e-geek.
“This is the main area,” Jill told her. “There’s like a break room and the bathrooms, and a supply area, but—”